The Sword of Solace
by wabisabija
Summary: Mike struggles with the loss of his father and his comrade, yet he finds comfort in the touch of his partner's niece. Sometimes the only way to find solace is to be pierced by the sword.
1. Chapter 1

Max jolted awake, propping herself up on her elbows. The television emitted an eerie blue glow in the darkness of the living room as the menu screen of the movie she had been watching blared an annoying song. The detective rubbed her eyes and felt around for her phone on the coffee table. She pressed the home button and the time glared back at her.

"Three in the goddamn morning." she muttered irritably as she scanned the table for the remote, fixing the strap on her tank top that had slipped past her shoulder. A low peal of thunder rolled through the apartment, tipping her off as to what woke her from her slumber. Max was so incredibly tired. She had half a mind to simply turn off the television and just curl up on the couch and sleep there for the rest of the night. _Might as well,_ she thought as she fumbled for the remote she finally had spotted.

The television remote went flying from her hand soon after she cut the power as she jumped from a sudden pounding on her door. She felt her muscles lock into place, her eyes fixing on the door. Who could possibly be at her apartment this early in the morning? In the rain, no less? She could feel her heart sink into the pit of her stomach as the worst possible scenarios ran through her mind. Had something happened to Ryan or Jenny? Another knock rang through her ears, this time more timid and uneven. She forced herself to move, briefly considering the gun taped under the table beside the door. Should she grab it, just in case? Adrenaline rushed through Max's veins, yet she forced herself to move slowly, quietly. She could feel it buzzing in her joints, ready to push her body into action at any sign of danger. She steeled herself and pressed her hands against the door, easing herself towards the peephole, peering out.

With a gasp, Max pushed herself away from the door, grappling for the deadbolt. She swung the door open, revealing someone she certainly did not expect to see. Mike stood before her, his hands shoved into his jacket, sandy hair tousled and dripping wet. The clothes underneath were disheveled and mussed. His face was bruised and cut, an angry looking gash just above his eyebrow sticking out the most, and was that dried blood smeared just below the corner of his mouth?

"Mike… what _happened_ to you?"

His blue eyes were hazy and rimmed red. They stared into hers morosely as his lips struggled to form words. "I… I didn't know where else to go."

A wave of concern washed through Max as she reached out and latched on to his jacket sleeve, pulling him inside. "Your face, Mike, what happened? What's going on?" Mike stumbled and lost balance, and Max reached out to steady him. His hands fell to her waist and his head ducked down towards her shoulder. She caught a whiff of something pungent and sharp. "Have you been drinking?"

He mumbled something in reply, and she tried to ignore his breath upon her neck. She placed her hands on his shoulders and gently pushed him back. Mike squeezed his eyes shut and ducked his head, yet his hands still remained firm on Max's waist. Her eyes immediately began to scan the laceration on his face. He had most definitely been drinking, and judging by the marks on his face, he had gotten into a scuffle. She sighed and moved out of his embrace.

"You're taking pages out of my uncle's book, Mike." she said softly, leading the intoxicated man to the couch. "It doesn't suit you. Now sit here, I'm going to clean up your face."

He sat heavily, his head falling backwards to rest on the back of the couch, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. Max kept her gaze on him as she made her way to the bathroom. It wasn't like Mike to get completely wasted. At least, that's what she had thought. She knew very well that he was going through a lot, and he had been coping well. _Behind closed doors must be a different story_, she summated. She moistened a washcloth in the sink and grabbed the first aid kit and brought it back to the living room. Kneeling on the couch, Max gently took Mike's chin in her hand and gently pressed the cloth to the angry cut above his eyebrow. He hissed in pain.

"Sorry," Max mumbled, lessening the pressure of the cloth. "Do you… do you want to talk about what happened?" She pulled away the washcloth from his eye, the cloth stained pink. She fumbled in the kit for the antibacterial ointment and a bandage. "You don't have to talk about it, we can- we can just sit here like last time."

She focused on his injury, expecting him to sit in silence. But as she began to apply the ointment, the words began to spill from his mouth.

"I was… I was having a rough night, you know? A-and… I wasn't in a good place. I wasn't… With Debra and m-my dad… my dad… I went to a bar and I drank. I drank a lot. I ran into one of my brothers there, he w-was drunk too."

Max sealed the bandage over the cut and sat back on her heels, a sick feeling settling in her stomach. He was avoiding her gaze, staring straight ahead. She could see the tears forming in his eyes as his jaw worked to form words.

"Mike, you don't-,"

"Do you know what he told me, Max?" he asked, his voice rough and wavering. He angrily fisted at his eyes, rubbing away the tears that had yet to fall. A laugh spilled from Mike's lips, sharp and hysterical. It was a heartbroken, pitiful laugh and it hurt Max to her very core. She watched in trepidation as he swallowed thickly. "He said… he told me that if I wasn't involved in this fuckin' case, Dad would still be here, and… I snapped."

Max's heart dropped to her stomach. She watched in horror as the tears began to cascade down Mike's ruddy face.

"And you know what, Max?" he continued, his voice breaking along with her heart. "He was right. He was absolutely right."

Shaking her head fervently, Max interjected, reaching for his clenched fist resting on his thigh. "No, Mike, no. It's not your-!"

"Yes it is!" he snapped, ripping his hand away from her touch. "Don't you _see_, Max? This was all my fault! We c-couldn't reach Debra in time, and n-now my dad… If I w-wasn't involved, Lily wouldn't have…"

Mike buried his face into his hands and began to sob, his shoulders shaking violently. Each cry tore into Max's soul, and she struggled to keep her own tears from falling. She timidly placed a hand on one of his shoulders, and to her relief, he didn't pull away. "Mike, listen to me, listen to me. Your father's death _nor_ the death of Parker was your fault."

He began to shake his head, so Max smoothed her hand over his back. She shifted closer to the broken agent and murmured softly, "Hey, hey. The actions of Lily or anyone who was connected to Joe do not reflect on you, okay? Your father loved you, and he knew you were doing everything in your power to protect others." She used her other hand to softly rest on his. "Mike, look at me. Come on… look at me."

With a shuddering breath, Mike slowly took his hands away from his face. Max placed her hand on his cheek and looked him directly in the eyes. "I know you may not believe me right now, but it was _not_ your fault. I know it isn't an easy time for you. The death of a parent is never easy, but over time it _will_ get better, I promise you."

Mike's sobs lessened and eventually died away at her words and her comforting touch. She offered him a smile, which he returned. It was watery and small, but a smile nonetheless. She slid her hand from his face, his stubble tickling her palm. "Okay, do you need anything? Food, or maybe some water?" she asked, moving to leave the couch. She was interrupted, however, by Mike's hand wrapping firmly around her wrist.

"I… I don't need anything," he mumbled, averting his eyes. "I just… could you sit with me for a minute? Just a minute."

"Yeah, of course."

She slowly sat down, expecting Mike to retract his hand, yet he didn't. As a matter of fact, he shifted towards her and his other hand rested upon hers. His thumbs began to rub small circles over her wrists. _He's doing the thumb thing,_ Max thought to herself, her heart rate picking up. _Oh God, he's doing the thumb thing._ Suddenly, images of Mike clad in only a towel popped unbidden into her mind. The towel that had been dropped right before her eyes.

"Thank you, Max." he breathed, snapping her out of the lewd images forming in her mind. He lifted a hand to her face, and Max began to panic. It wasn't right. He was clearly intoxicated and in a very emotional state, and she should really, _really_ pull away and tell him to stop. But as his breath ghosted over her lips, she couldn't quite remember what she had been thinking just before that moment, and she never realized that Mike's eyes were _that blue_…

His lips brushed over hers, an experimental gesture that left Max tingling and waiting for more. Mike's hand slowly slid to the back of her neck as he pressed his lips more firmly to hers, his tongue sliding easily against hers. He tasted like vodka and iron and mint, and it mixed together into something so sinful that it drew a faint mewl from her throat and left her craving more, more, _more_. Raising her hands to the collar of his jacket, Max made quick work at pulling it down his shoulders. He broke the kiss, his stubble scraping pleasantly against her cheek as he planted soft kisses down her jaw to the column of Max's neck. He wrestled his jacket off of his arms and threw it somewhere behind him, his lips never breaking contact with her skin.

Mike shifted, his hands pressing against her shoulders, and Max complied by easing herself backwards to lay on the couch. He returned his attention to her lips, kissing her more forcefully than before. Urgently. His hand drifted to her hip, his fingers grazing just beneath the hem of her tank top. She ran a hand through his sandy hair, her fingers scratching at the base of his neck, coaxing a muffled moan from his throat. He rolled his hips against hers, and she felt…

Max sharply turned her head to the side, breaking the kiss. "Mike…" she panted, pulling her hand from his scalp. He seemed unfazed by the sudden interruption, perfectly content to continue lavishing her neck. "Mike, we…we can't do this. Y-you're not in the right state of mind, and it would be wrong for me to go through with this when you can't make the decision yourself." He trailed his tongue down her neck and over her collarbone, and she worked to stifle a moan threatening to make its way up her throat.

"You're so beautiful, Max." he whispered against her clavicle, causing her skin to erupt into goose bumps. He hummed softly, his hand drifting upwards, still underneath her tank top. "You want me to stop?"

He raised his head, his face flushed, to peer into Max's eyes. She could still faintly smell the alcohol on his skin, and she _knew_ he was still intoxicated. Just how intoxicated, she didn't know. She averted her eyes, biting down on her now swollen lip.

"Tell me to stop, Max, and I will."

"I-it's not that I want you to stop," she stammered, her eyes flicking back to meet his, then darting away again. "You're just, you know, _intoxicated_ and not in a good place right now, and it would be wrong for me to go through with this."

He heaved a sigh, gently pressing his forehead to hers, his eyes sliding shut. "Max," he breathed, "I need you. It… this helps. I-I know I'm messed up, and I know that a lot of shit is going on, but… I know that you help. You make things better. That night at Ryan's? When we sat in the living room all night? I felt better than I had ever felt. Even since… even since Debra."

They sat there for a while, Max and Mike. She focused on his closed eyelids as she tried to even out her breathing, idly thinking about how unfair it was that he had thicker eyelashes than her. It was a comfortable moment. As comfortable as it could be after what had just happened.

The peace was interrupted as Mike lifted himself up and sat back on his heels with a sigh, slapping his hands on his thighs.

"I'm sorry, Max. I shouldn't have come here without warning. I, uh… I'd better be going."

"Mike, Mike, that's not a good idea." Max said quickly, sitting up as well. She ran a shaky hand through her tousled hair. "Just… just spend the night here. You can take my bed, I'll stay out here, okay?"

Mike, who had just gotten to his feet, swayed a little. He pressed a hand to his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut. Max leaped to her feet.

"Hey, hey, hey," she exclaimed, resting her hands against his shoulders to steady him. "Come on, this way." She slid her hand behind his back and led him towards her bedroom. He shuffled in that direction, his eyes still squeezed shut.

"I'll stay on the couch, Max."

"It's too late, we're already halfway there." she replied, kicking the door open. She led him to her bed, where he sat down and began to kick off his shoes. "Let me go get you a glass of water."

A thousand thoughts ran through Max's head as she stuck a glass under the faucet in the kitchen. The taste of Mike's lips, the feeling of his stubble scraping relentlessly against her neck, his fingers grazing her ribs… What would Ryan think? Oh God, what would _Chris_ think?

_We aren't official. Nothing has been defined._ she firmly reminded herself, her shaking fingers fumbling to turn off the faucet. She took a deep breath and made her way towards the bedroom, where Mike had stripped his shirt and was halfway through shedding his jeans. She drew herself up short. "Here's your water," she stated, her voice coming out much more shrilly than she intended. Dropping her eyes, she handed Mike the water, which he took and immediately began to gulp it down. She flicked her gaze upwards and watched a droplet of water leak from the corner of his mouth and trickle down his jaw and drip to his chest. Max immediately averted her eyes again, scolding herself irritably at how foolish she was acting.

"Thank you, Max." Mike said quietly, setting the glass on the nightstand. "I… I can still just stay on the couch."

"No, no, I'm going to the couch. You stay here." Max replied firmly, pointing to the bed. "And if you need to throw up, please, for the love of God, try to make it to the toilet."

"Max…" he murmured, reaching towards her hand, trailing his fingers over her knuckles. "You could… stay in here too, if you wanted."

His fingers sent electrical currents rushing through her arm and a blush racing to her cheeks. _Like a stupid school girl_, she thought to herself irritably. "Mike, I told you that you aren't in the condition to be making these kinds of decisions."

Perching on the edge of the bed, he offered a small smile. "Not like that. Just… just stay with me. It helps to have someone else, you know?"

_I shouldn't._ Max thought to herself. _I shouldn't be walking towards the bed, nonetheless sitting. Yet here I am, doing exactly what I shouldn't do. Damn it, Mike._

"I'll stay just for a moment."

She hated how those blue eyes bore into hers and she hated how he smiled at her. He pulled back the sheets and settled into her bed, a deep sigh escaping his lips. "Thanks, Max. Really."

"Don't mention it. Go to sleep."


	2. Chapter 2

_The rain still hasn't stopped…_

Mike heaved a sigh as his car sped down the highway, raindrops plunking away at the windshield. To put it mildly, he felt as if someone had their palms on his temples and was slowly pushing inward. The night before was rough. Getting into a fight with his brother, running off to Max's apartment, kissing her…

He clenched his jaw in frustration. How could he be so stupid? Max probably thought he was a lunatic for showing up at her doorstep, inebriated and emotional and physical and incredibly stupid. He would be lucky if she ever spoke to him again. Their initial relationship was rocky enough as it was.

As soon as he woke up, Mike prayed to the Lord above that Max was not awake (after the initial confusion of being in an unfamiliar bedroom, of course). Fate was on his side that day, as the detective was still curled up on the couch, blissfully slumbering away. His gaze lingered on her sleeping form and the way her hair framed her rosy face almost perfectly before getting embarrassed and tiptoeing out of the apartment. Maybe he would have stayed for a bit longer, if not for the plans he made to see his mother that morning. A definite shower was in order before the meeting. And a couple of aspirin.

How convenient that he would get into a fist fight with his brother the night before. Either his mother already knew about the fight, or she would ask questions about the bandage over his eye. Enough time had passed since the funeral so that his mother could live her life smoothly, yet the pain was still fresh, still real. The last thing she needed was her sons fighting. Mike had disappointed too many people in his lifetime, and he didn't need his mother to be disappointed in him, too.

The anxiety bubbling in his gut threatened to rise into his throat as he approached the driveway of his mother's house. Mike pulled the car into the driveway, trying to calm down, noticing that it was empty besides his mother's blue coup. He relaxed a little, thankful that none of his brothers were there.

He killed the engine and climbed out of the car, slowly approaching the front door. As he reached knocking distance, the door swung open without warning. Mike jumped backwards, cursing loudly.

"Michael Emerson, you _know_ how I feel about that kind of language." a stern, familiar voice rang out.

"Sorry, Mom. You just scared me, that's all." Mike responded bashfully, a smile pulling at his lips. His mother, a petite, blond woman with bright blue eyes, gathered her son into a hug.

"It's good to see you, sweetheart." she murmured, rubbing his back. Any anxiety left lingering in Mike's stomach instantly was washed away by his mother's soothing words. She pulled back and held him at an arm's length. "Are you hungry? I've made us lunch."

Mike hadn't realized that he didn't eat breakfast, what with sneaking out of Max's apartment and rushing home to get changed and freshened up. "I'm famished."

She smiled at his answer and inclined her head. "It's waiting for us in the kitchen." She turned on her heel and retreated into the house. Mike followed his mother into the small foyer and was struck by the scent of grilled chicken, causing his stomach to growl. They entered the kitchen, an open and airy room, and settled into the breakfast nook, where two heaping bowls of Caesar salad were waiting, topped with cucumbers and chicken, with a bowl of French onion soup on the side. His hangover craved something juicy and greasy, but the soup and salad would have to do for now.

As Mike began to dig in to his salad, a sudden feeling of dread pressed down on his shoulders. The anxiety was coming back, prickling apprehensively at his skin. He glanced up to see his mother studying him intently. No, studying the bandage above his brow. He set down his fork and pressed his lips together.

"I know what happened between you and Matthew last night." his mother stated softly after a pregnant silence, her eyes dropping to meet his. Mike's heart began to sink. He couldn't tell if her eyes were sympathetic or full of blame, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to find out. He pulled his hands into his lap and lowered his head in shame, negative thoughts beginning to bounce around in his head. _It's your fault, you know. You got your father murdered. You failed. You couldn't save Debra. You murdered Lily, and what good did that do you? Useless._

"I threw the first punch," Mike admitted quietly, trying to ignore the lump in his throat that threatened to cut off his words.

"That's what Mattie said." his mother confirmed, taking a sip of coffee. Mike glanced up and saw how tired his mother looked, and he felt guilty. So guilty. She pressed on, "I also know what Mattie said to you." She set her coffee cup down. "To be frank, he needs much more than a fist to the face."

Her words rang in his ears as Mike felt his jaw slacken. She didn't blame him? She thought Matt _deserved_ it?

"Let me tell you a secret, Mike." his mother said, leaning backwards in her seat. "I know you feel at fault for your father's death, and I know that you were still at odds with him when… when he passed. Your brothers may have pushed you out by calling you the black sheep of the family for avoiding a military career, but your father was nothing but proud of you."

His father… proud? With every word that his mother spoke, Mike felt the weight pressing on his heart lessen. She reached across the table and took his hands in hers, squeezing them reassuringly. "And what's more, you saved a _life_ that night."

Images of finding a terrified and muddy Max underneath that footbridge in the woods behind Kurt Bowlen's house shot through his mind. He and Ryan had foiled part of Lily's plot. Had they been just a couple minutes later, Max could have ended up… like Debra. But she didn't. Max was alive. Mike had saved her. He didn't fail.

"Speaking of…" his mother continued, eyeing him slyly. "Her name was Max, wasn't it? Could she possibly be the Max that gave me a call a couple months back?"

Mike frowned, confused at her question. Someone had called his mother? Why would Max call…?

_"Hey, you didn't have to lie about where you were. You don't have to tell us where you are, but you don't have to lie about it, either."_

Heat began to creep into his cheeks as he mulled over Max's words. He pulled his hands away from his mothers, fighting to keep his expression neutral. He had completely forgotten that Max had called his mother because she was worried about his wellbeing. He cleared his throat and picked at the last of his salad. "It may have been, I can't be sure."

Max had always worried about him, he realized. It was quite easy to forget, with her tough demeanor, but she worried quite a bit. He had nearly forgotten about the day he stole away to see Claire, and she was concerned enough about his whereabouts to call his mother. He had intended to ask his mother what she had said, but the stress of the Carroll case had made him forget.

"What did she say?"

His mother raised an eyebrow as she took a long sip of her coffee. Mike knew she was eyeing the flush in his cheeks and probably already hearing wedding bells ringing away in her ears. "She was simply wondering where you were." she responded with a smile. "If a woman's worried enough about someone to call their mother, I would say that she's a pretty good catch."

"Mom…"

"So what's she like? I've seen pictures of her in the paper, she's awfully pretty. Ryan's niece, right?"

Mike began to squirm in his chair. He felt like he was in high school again, the way his mom was interrogating him. She had always been ridiculously invested in her sons' love lives, and the only brother that had married was Matthew. He chewed on his bottom lip, trying to stall as much as possible in hopes that his mother would change the subject, but the way her eyes bore into his told him that she wasn't about to do that any time soon.

"She's…" Mike began, rubbing at the back of his neck, "… she's a spitfire."

A grin broke out over his mother's face. "Wonderful! You've always gone after the nice girls, Mikey. I've always said you needed a challenge. This one would be good for you."

"Yeah, yeah." Mike muttered, pushing the last bits of his salad around with his fork. Max certainly was a challenge, of course, if she wasn't furious at him. I should probably apologize.

His mother kept chattering away about how she never liked his first girlfriend, Katie, because she was far too sweet and simple, and Mike used this moment to take out his cell with the intention of shooting Max an apology text. Much to his surprise, however, he had an unread text waiting for him. From Max.

_"Is everything okay? Did you make it home safely_?"

A smile quirked at his lips. Max may be a spitfire, but she sure worried a lot. With Ryan as her uncle, Mike honestly couldn't blame her. Aggressive, stubborn, beautiful, perfect, worrying Max…

Mike's thumbs made quick work typing out a response.

_"Everything's fine. Thanks, I owe you big time."_

Mike and his mother finished their lunch, chatted for a bit longer, and soon she was seeing him to the front door. She gathered him into a hug and planted a kiss on her son's cheek. "I love you very much, Mikey. If you ever need anything, remember that I'm just a phone call away."

"I know, Mom." Mike reassured her with a smile. His mother always knew how to make him feel better… worthy. His smile fell, however. He knew that damaging thoughts lurked in the darkest corners of his mind, and he knew they wouldn't stay there. He wasn't through the woods yet.

After saying their goodbyes, Mike walked briskly to his car, feeling the buzz of his phone in his pocket. Another text from Max, he realized, a thrill shooting through his heart.

_"Buy me a pizza and we'll call it even."_

Mike paused, glancing at his mother's house, watching her bustle around the kitchen through the window. He thought about what his mother had said about Max, and he thought about last night. He knew that she would probably still be a little upset about the events that happened, yet Mike couldn't deny that there was something there. He could wash and scrub as hard as he wanted, but he wasn't sure if he could get the feeling of Mike's skin out of his hands. She had some sort of grip on him, ever since that day he barged into her office at the police station.

He sent her a text.

_"How about pizza at 7 tonight?"_


End file.
